


Operation Anthea

by TheresaWritesStuff



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Season/Series 01, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-15 15:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheresaWritesStuff/pseuds/TheresaWritesStuff
Summary: Recently retired from field work, a soon to be promoted Mycroft Holmes finds himself working a surveillance mission as MI5 partners with the CIA in tracking one of the UK's most notorious crime families. His assignment turns out to be the person he never wished to find...his soulmate. Now that he's found her, can he maintain his cover and stay away? Or will this become so much more than just another job?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a soulmate AU and my first strictly Mythea focused fic... It is very new and a bit outside my comfort zone but I am excited about this story idea. So here goes nothing!
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Comments are appreciated! (Again. New to the au and the ship...)

Soulmarks. Many saw these little markings as a mysterious, exciting puzzle piece in the grand scheme of their destiny. Mycroft Holmes saw his as a liability.

True, they were simple enough to cover. A standard wrist watch could easily conceal the subtle, unique mark just above the pulse point of his left wrist. But concealing the mark was not the issue. It was the constant effort to keep it concealed. To keep it from the eyes of those who would seek to gain leverage over him. Whoever it was that bore his matching mark, his “other half” as it were, would only be used as a bargaining tool at best in his line of work. And he already had enough people to worry about looking after.

No, his soulmate’s identity was a mystery he had no interest in solving.

Until today…

June 7, 2006.

Mycroft strolled through the offices of MI5 to the surveillance room, laughing internally as he noticed the lower level agents scatter. News of his upcoming promotion and his reputation had traveled fast. Although he could have done without the bullet to the shoulder that lead to his ultimate retirement from the field, Mycroft was rather pleased with the turn his career had taken. Not that he would let on about it. He found he quite enjoyed watching the underlings duck for cover whenever “the ice man” entered a room.

“Status report?” he requested, sitting down in front of a monitor.

Agent Marri handed him the file containing his assignment. “The NSA and CIA have requested our partnership in tracking the whereabouts of the Carmichael crime family during their stay in London over the next few weeks. They are suspected to have a large counterfeit operation as well as several counts of money laundering.”

“And why is this our concern?” Mycroft asked.

“They are traveling here for their son Jason’s wedding. He is engaged to a Miss Colleen O’Deorain. The O’Deorains have kept a fairly low profile in recent years, but they have a long history of organized crime dating back to—“

“I’m aware of the O’Deorains,” Mycroft cut in. “So the Americans are afraid a union of this nature will involve an expansion of the Carmichael’s counterfeit ring outside of their jurisdiction.”

“Yes, sir,” Agent Marri confirmed.

Mycroft sighed. “Was it really necessary to bring me in on this?”

Agent Marri shrugged. “Not my department, sir. I just handle the briefings.”

The corner of Mycroft’s mouth quirked up slightly. “I suppose I should be grateful that her Majesty has decided to grant me such an easy transition back into desk work. I take it this is the fiancé’s file?”

Agent Marri fidgeted. “Um, actually sir, Agent Davis was assigned to monitoring Colleen. You’ve been assigned her cousin Rebecca.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes.  _Easing him back in, indeed._

Agent Davis began to sink lower in his chair, hoping to avoid further notice from his superior.

Agent Marri continued, trying to placate him. “I believe she’s going to be the maid of honor, sir, so she still may have some vital information…”

“I was shot in the shoulder, Agent Marri. My ego is still perfectly in tact,” Mycroft reprimanded, an amused smirk braking across his face momentarily in her direction.

He flipped open the file in front of him, scanning through it.

Rebecca Theodosia O’Deorain. 26 years old. Only child. Eldest grandchild. _Grandmother’s favorite._

Business degree from Cambridge. Manages the family café, of which the lease is still in her Grandmother’s name. _Sentimental attachment. Definitely the favorite grandchild_.  
  
Known associate of Irene Adler.

_Interesting._

Mycroft flipped through the enclosed surveillance shots of them around town.

_Friend, not client. Likely met at Cambridge. Still meets for coffee at least three times a year._

Mycroft studied a shot of her somewhere in the park.

_Athletic. Loyal. Intelligent. Likes animals and 80's punk rock. Objectively attractive…_

“Mr. Holmes, sir? Colleen’s putting in a video call to Rebecca. I-if you’re interested,” Agent Davis mumbled.

Mycroft turned his chair towards Agent Davis, adjusting his monitor so that it would be flush with his own. “I would advise turning your volume down to start, if I were you, Agent.”

“Sir?”

Mycroft motioned for Davis to trust him and do as he suggested. Once the volume had been adjusted, he held up a hand, counting down. Three…Two…One…

“AAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!!! HEY GIRL!!!” Colleen squealed as her cousin came into view.

“Hello, yourself! How’s the bride to be?” Rebecca asked excitedly, smiling brightly from the other side of the monitor.

Colleen bobbed her strawberry blonde head apprehensively. “Nervous, but so excited. I can’t wait for you all to meet Jason. He’s such a sweetheart. You’re gonna love him, Thea. How are things back home? Nanna still doing alright?”

“Things are good. Nanna’s about the same. A little shorter, a little frailer, but she’s still Nanna,” Rebecca replied with a shrug.

Colleen laughed. “Still wrapped in a cashmere sweater, forgetting where she put her glasses?”

“Always! I don’t know how she does it in this heatwave,” Rebecca admitted, running a hand along her neck, lifting her hair up to cool herself.

Mycroft’s eyes went wide as her slender wrist came into view, baring a mark identical to his own.

“Are you alright, sir?” Agent Marri asked.

Mycroft let out a breath and released the arm of the chair he realized he had been gripping.

“Perfectly fine,” he replied, clearing his throat.

He attempted to refocus his attention on the job at hand, looking for clues within view of the webcam or anything potentially of use in their conversation. His wrist began to itch, distracting him. After several attempts to adjust his watch, Mycroft excused himself, stepping out into the empty hallway.

“Get ahold of yourself, Holmes,” he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath.

Hesitantly, he removed his watch, revealing the seldom looked at soulmark staring back at him, taunting him. It was an undeniable match for Miss O'Deorain's. Fate had finally caught up to him and revealed his soulmate to him, whether he liked it or not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft grapples with this new discovery.
> 
> Sherlock needs a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have multiple WIPs going but this one was nagging at me to update it. Don't worry, Mycroft and 'Thea will have some actual interactions next chapter. It's a bit of a shorter chapter, but for pacing it made sense to cut it there. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. Probably needs a proof read but I'm impatient and need to make dinner...
> 
> Comments are appreciated! Would love to hear from you!

That night Mycroft sat at his desk, staring down at the file in front of him.

Her file. His soulmate’s file…

 _She’s just another assignment_ , he reminded himself, breathing out a sigh of frustration.  _Wasn’t he the one who was always saying sentiment was not an advantage?_

He flipped the file shut, no longer able to handle seeing her face smiling back at him from the photo at the top of the stack, and placed it resolutely in the drawer of his desk.

She was attractive, he had to admit. No, more than simply attractive. She was  _stunning._  With her soft chestnut hair and eyes that seemed as if they could look right into his very soul…

But he couldn’t afford to think of her like that. She was an assignment. A target to be monitored, studied. From a distance if he could help it.

He didn’t need to know anything about her beyond what was helpful to the mission. He didn’t want to know anything beyond that. The less he knew about her the better. He couldn’t afford to become emotionally invested. Emotions clouded judgement and if he’d learned anything as a field operative, it was that above all else you cannot afford to compromise your judgement on a mission.

Although the way she tilted her head slightly as she smiled when she was amused did make him wonder…

He stood up from his desk, pushing the thought from his head.

She was too young for him, anyway, he reminded himself. The fine lines that had begun to set in around his eyes and the gradual but undeniable thinning of his auburn hair were more than enough of a reminder that he was closer to 40 now than he was to 30.  _What would a young woman like her ever see in him anyway?_

He sighed, closing his eyes, listening to the droplets of rain hit the window pane in front of him.

Just as it had all evening, the picture of her face crept into his mind, her smiling eyes staring right through him.

God, how those eyes of hers haunted him. 

There was a calculating intelligence beyond those inviting irises that he found himself undeniably drawn to. Yet even more so, he could not deny there was a weight behind her perceptive gaze that pulled at something deep within him. It was a look that he knew all too well. She was a keeper of secrets, and though she carried it well, he knew what a burden such information could be at times. How it could weigh on your mind. 

Thoughts of her smile flooded his mind again and he felt himself wishing that he could somehow ease that burden for her.

No. Miss O’Deorain’s burdens were her own. His job was to simply observe and gather what information was necessary to ensure national security, nothing more. If he was lucky, this mission would be resolved quickly and he could get back to settling in to his life and enjoying his promotion.

There was no need for their paths to ever cross. Yet a weaker part of him still wondered…

Thankfully, a text alert on his phone distracted him from stumbling down that rabbit hole.

Mycroft flipped open his mobile, rolling his eyes as he read the message.

Grabbing his umbrella from its stand, he donned his coat and strode purposefully out into the night.

******

“Had a busy night, have you, brother mine?” Mycroft leaned against the doorframe of Sherlock’s latest hovel of a flat.

“I’m working, Mycroft,” Sherlock retorted, typing away on his laptop, not bothering to lift his eyes to greet him.

“Ah it’s for a case, is it? Why does that sound familiar?” Mycroft asked rhetorically, sidestepping a haphazard pile of newspapers as he made his way into the room.

“Do I even want to know how you got this address?” Sherlock wondered, still focused on the screen in front of him.

“You have your networks, I have mine,” Mycroft answered simply.

Sherlock let out a derisive breath of air. Pressing his lips together, he lifted his eyes to look at his older brother, quirking a brow inquisitively.

“You still have connections with the CIA, yes?”

Mycroft lifted his brow in kind. “Why?”

“...I may need them.”

“Since when have you needed any of my connections for a case?” Mycroft wondered.

“It isn’t for a case exactly,” Sherlock corrected. “More like a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Yes.”

“For whom?”

Sherlock hesitated.

“Come now, Sherlock. I’m going to need more than that,” Mycroft sighed, eyeing the chair nearest him as he considered sitting down, but thought better of it, noting the stains of questionable origin.

Sherlock glanced at him before returning his eyes to the laptop screen. “There is a woman I’ve become acquainted with,” he explained finally.

“A woman?” Mycroft asked in teasing surprise.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dull. It’s nothing like that. Besides, she’s old enough to be one of Mummy’s bridge club biddies.”

Mycroft held up his hands apologetically. “Forgive me. You were saying?”

“Well, now I’m not so sure I want your help,” Sherlock responded, childishly.

“Sherlock.” Mycroft shot him a warning glance, finally resolving himself to perch on the edge of the chair cushion, dry cleaning bill or no.

“Fine. Mrs. Hudson and I became acquainted when a suspect decided to test my boxing skills at a pub. She hit him over the head with her bar stool, then pestered me until I let her patch me up. Said it was the best part of her holiday." Sherlock smiled at the memory.

“And how does this relate to my CIA connections?”

Sherlock’s smile fell and his shoulders sagged slightly. “Her husband runs a cartel down in Florida. He’s a scoundrel and a cheat with a temper to match. Let’s just say Mrs. H didn’t know how to patch me up because she went to nursing school…”

“I see,” Mycroft replied, considering this. “And that is why you paid a visit to every drug dealer worth their salt in London?”

“It is.” Sherlock smirked at him from over top of the computer screen.

“So I won’t be needing a list?”

“Nope.” Sherlock responded, popping the ‘p’ cockily.

“You’re sure about that?” Mycroft pressured.

“Positive,” Sherlock replied, holding out his forearm for display, revealing two nicotine patches. “Currently clean as can be.”

Mycroft nodded satisfactorily, standing up. “Good. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

Sherlock chuckled. “The irony of a junky trying to take down a cartel lord is not lost on me, Mycroft. I can stay sober for Mrs. Hudson’s sake.”

“If that’s what it takes,” Mycroft murmured, making his way to the door.

“So?” Sherlock asked, still not having received an answer from his brother.

Mycroft met his eyes across the room. “I’ll look into it,” he assured him.

Sherlock gave him a satisfied nod before returning to his work, trusting Mycroft to close the door on his way out.


End file.
